


A Valentine’s Massage

by WhyDoIWrite



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Career Ending Injuries, F/F, JP Cooper, Manchester City, Massage therapist, Maybe it's a one-night stand, University of Portland, Valentine’s Day, Women's College Basketball, maybe it's not, woso - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:30:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22715362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite
Summary: A basketball coach.  A massage therapist.  Valentine's Day.  Seems like the perfect recipe for a banging first date. Or one-night stand.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Rose Lavelle
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	A Valentine’s Massage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a heck of a lot later than I had intended. But it's still Valentine's somewhere, so...

Everyone told Lindsey to treat herself on Valentine’s Day, but that feels…ridiculous. Then again, she can’t remember a time she’s been single on Valentine’s Day. She didn’t anticipate being single. Not even after she finally broke up with her asshole boyfriend in a moment of uncharacteristic strength.

* * *

One of her players had come to Lindsey’s office, at Lindsey’s request. Her usual starting point guard was struggling to even make the most basic passes. Hitting a three hadn’t happened in two games. She was distracted, but it was more than that. Lindsey saw hurt and worry on her player’s face. It was one of the things that made Lindsey such a good coach – her ability to not just read the game, but to read her players as human beings. And to treat them like people, not like robotic athletes. Her player had finally broken down in tears, telling Lindsey about how her girlfriend dictated every aspect of her life. How they fought when the team went on the road because her girlfriend would accuse her of cheating. How she felt so isolated from all of her friends and teammates. How her girlfriend pushed her, once

It broke Lindsey’s heart. For her athlete, but also for herself. As she had sat there, listening to this all-too-familiar story, she realized how hypocritical it was for her to be giving this young girl advice when she wasn’t even able to take her own advice. Or her friends’.

So Lindsey went home that evening. Called him. Broke it off. He laughed. Said it wouldn’t last more than a week. 

It had been four months. Lindsey was proud of herself. And in a moment of uncharacteristic bravado, fueled by alcohol, she decided to make a move on a co-worker at the University Christmas party. The soccer coach – Emily Sonnett. The coach that Lindsey had had her eye on since she had arrived at the University of Portland two years ago. Emily was hilarious, laidback, kind, cute. And it turns out, she was dating one of the staff trainers. Emily let Lindsey down easily. She was flattered. She was apologetic. There was no way Lindsey could have known; the couple had kept it a secret because, well, dating someone you work with, someone who has the power to hold a player out of competition or give a player the all-clear, presents a pretty big conflict of interest. But Emily felt strongly enough about being honest with Lindsey, and trusted her enough that she had confided that bit of information to her. So at least there was that.

* * *

But it also meant that now, nearly two months later, Lindsey was single on Valentine’s Day. And she wasn’t about to do what? Send herself flowers to the office? Make a reservation for dinner for one? If she wanted chocolate - and right about now as the loneliness was kicking in, she wanted chocolate – she could just wait til it was all on clearance tomorrow. She let out an audible sigh as she leaned onto her elbows on her desk and rested her head in the palms of her head, using her thumbs to massage her temples. 

Lindsey’s moment of peace and maybe self-loathing is interrupted by a knock at her door. “Bad day?” Bailey asks, kindly.

Lindsey turns to look at her. “Fuck!” she says through clenched teeth as pain shoots from the base of her skull down into the middle of her back. “Something like that. And I guess I slept wrong, because turning my head hurts!”

“Maybe I can help with that,” Bailey says, entering Lindsey’s space. Lindsey instinctively scoots her chair back, farther away from the incoming trainer. Bailey laughs. “Not like that. I know a great massage therapist.” She pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket, picks up a pen off of Lindsey’s desk, and writes Chris’ name and number on a post-it note. “He can fix you right up. Em and I went to his place yesterday for a couple’s massage, since I have to work the men’s game tonight and we can’t do anything.”

Of. 

Course. 

They. 

Did.

Lindsey would roll her eyes but it’s honestly just too cute to do that. She wishes she could find someone to get a couple’s massage with.

“Anyway,” Bailey continues, “give him ring. Also, this might help. Ang is clear to play tomorrow. I put her through the last round of tests a bit ago. She’s 100%, Linds.”

Thank God, Lindsey thinks. Their season isn’t going as planned, but they can beat Santa Clara. If they have their big center in the game.

“Thanks, Bailey,” Lindsey says appreciatively. “For this, too,” she points at the number.

Lindsey takes a moment and dials the number. A woman answers. “Absolute Body Kneads, this is Rose. How can I help you?”

“Hi, um, yeah, I’d like to schedule a massage with Chris,” she says almost sheepishly. She hasn’t had a massage since her playing days, never fully comfortable with hands on her skin. It hadn’t been necessary after she wasn’t trying to perform at a high level. But now, not being able to turn her neck, made it seem necessary.

The sound of clicking on the keyboard comes through her single AirPod. “Chris is booked until a week from Tuesday.”

Lindsey sighs. Of. Course. He. Is.

“But I have a 4 o’clock. Today.”

Lindsey looks at her watch. 2:45. She can make it, no problem, if she leaves the office early. She gave her team the afternoon and evening off, with it being Valentine’s Day and all. It didn’t mean _she_ was planning on leaving early, since she had nothing to do, and no one to do it with. 

“Yeah, ok. That’ll work.”

“Cool. Listen, I have my next appointment coming in right now, but I’ll leave paperwork for you to fill out, if you don’t mind getting her just a little early?” Rose asks.

* * *

Rose’s office, or Chris’ office, or maybe Rose and Chris’ office, is tucked away in a cute wooded office park that Lindsey has never seen, despite all of her years in Portland. It has French doors and the hardwood floors are spotless, and the room is minimally furnished with two slingback chairs, a desk with computer, a stylish modern lamp in the corner, and a table with coffee table books, not the typical magazines. Lindsey spots what is presumably her paperwork attached to a clipboard on the desk. She sits back and fills it out quickly, not paying much attention. This is a massage, not a rehab session. As soon as she’s done, she picks up one of the books, flipping though it - The Women of the 116th Congress. _Must be a feminist_ , Lindsey notes. _Not a bad thing to be_. Lindsey is early early, a byproduct of all her years playing a sport where practice times were start times, not arrival times. 

Lindsey is lost in the book when one of the interior doors opens. A well-built man about Lindsey’s age steps out and into the lobby. “Thanks so much Rose. Feels great! See ya next week. And Happy Valentine’s Day!”

As Rose shuts the door behind him, she reaches her hand out to Lindsey. “Hi, I’m Rose. Sorry I didn’t get your name on the phone earlier.”

Rose is tiny, and Lindsey's hand swallows hers. But her hand is soft and warm, just like her smile. 

”Lindsey. I forgot it’s Valentine’s Day,” she lies. “Sorry for booking this late in the day.”

”Oh, no worries!” Rose assures her. “Give me a minute and I’ll get the room turned over.”

When she calls Lindsey in, the room is, predictably, dimly lit, and it smells of sandalwood and bergamot. The music isn’t the classical or jazz that Lindsey expected, but rather a blend of soulful folksy tunes. It’s immediately relaxing. And it feels like Lindsey can get a read on Rose's vibe right away. She digs it.

“All right, I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

And as Rose is leaving, Lindsey asks nervously, “Wait, so do I, like take off...”

”Whatever you’re comfortable with. But yeah, if you want me to do my job well.” With that Rose disappears.

Well that didn't exactly answer her question.

A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock at the door and before Lindsey can even respond, Rose enters the room. Before Lindsey knows it, she feels Rose sliding the sheet off of her shoulders and tucking it down under her hip. Lindsey freezes. It leaves her, very consciously, holding her breath at the feeling of fingertips sliding right under the edge of her pelvis. She hears Rose rubbing her hands together, warming the oil. Lindsey finally exhales as Rose’s hands make contact with her skin. 

”Wow,” Rose murmurs after a moment, breaking the silence. “You’re tighter than anyone I’ve worked on in a long time. What do you do for a living?”

”College basketball coach,” Lindsey mutters apologetically, wondering if that’s actually true, and worried about how Rose’s small fingers are going to be able to handle working her muscles if that’s the case.

”Lots of stress,” Rose replies, as if she understands. Rose follows the V-shape of Lindsey's lats down and then back up, stopping midway on the right side and working on the knot causing all of Lindsey's neck pain. Soon, Lindsey draws in a sharp breath as Rose jams her bony elbow right into the center of the knot. She doesn't let up either, and Lindsey sees white the pain is so bad. She was a goddamn professional athlete, and she can't take the elbow of some scrawny woman who's what, 5'4" and a buck and a quarter? Maybe? "Tell me when the pain subsides."

 _As if that's ever going to happen_ , Lindsey thinks. She also thinks about lying and saying the knot feels better. But she has a sneaking suspicion that Rose might be able to tell, considering how easily she found the knot in the first place. It hurts so bad that Lindsey doesn't even remember how sensual the massage felt when it first started, when Rose's hands brushed her bare skin and touched her lower on her body than anyone had in the past six months. And she's totally forgotten about the nervousness she was feeling, lying there naked on the table, with only a thin sheet covering the lower half of her body. 

Eventually, the pain does subside, and Rose returns to using her thumbs and fingers to work out the remaining inflammation, and then on to the rest of her back. It's relaxing, almost, though Rose seems to have a special sense of exactly where Lindsey hurts, in places Lindsey didn't even know she was hurting. And then, Rose moves to Lindsey's right shoulder, and Lindsey's body tenses up involuntarily. It's the shoulder that ended her career with the Portland Fire. That kept her from going to the Olympics at the last minute. It still haunts her to this day, and Lindsey isn't sure if it's the physical pain or the mental agony. Sure, she's happy to be coaching, but it wasn't supposed to be her job yet, not this young.

Rose stops for a second. "You have so many adhesions. Did you... did you tear your rotator cuff? This wasn't on your intake form."

"I did," Lindsey answers sheepishly. "But it's been a few years. It's fine."

"It is absolutely not fine. All this scar tissue. You should have had this taken care of a long time ago, if it's been years. Didn't you rehab? Did you not use massage therapy as part of your rehab? Were you playing at the time this happened? You never played again, did you?" Rose fires questions at Lindsey, not giving her time to answer, all the while working, painfully, at those adhesions. 

Lindsey doesn't have an answer for her. Instead, she fires back, "Aren't massages supposed to be relaxing?"

"Not when you're this fucked up," Rose says sternly, not even bothering to try to be professional. Before Lindsey knows it, her massage time is nearly up and Rose is placing heavy, hot stones on Lindsey's back. The burn feels so good. Lindsey can't see her, but she feels Rose sink onto a rolling stool near her head. Rose gently removes the hair tie holding Lindsey's ponytail together, and she lets Lindsey's hair fall freely. She uses her fingers to brush Lindsey's hair upwards, and then run her fingers through harder, massaging Lindsey's scalp as she goes. She starts lower and lower with each pass, the pads of her fingers gliding up Lindsey's neck to the base of her skull before allowing her nails to scrape softly over Lindsey's scalp. It sends a shiver through Lindsey's whole body, the best sensation she's felt in a long while. Before she can stop herself, Lindsey's let a small moan escape from her lips. Her face is bright red, though Rose can't see it now. And Rose? Rose doesn't say a word.

When Lindsey's hour is up, Rose removes the stones from Lindsey's back, and Lindsey immediately misses the warmth and pressure. "Take your time. You might be light-headed. I'll be right outside."

Lindsey does not, in fact, take her time. She rushes up the second she hears the door click. She doesn't know why, she just has the sudden urge to get out of there, so she pulls her adidas training pants and UP sweatshirt back on as quickly as possible. But when she opens the door, Rose is sitting there at her desk, an empty chair pulled up beside it, and she hands Lindsey a bottle of water. "Drink. So you don't get dehydrated," Rose commands as she looks at the chair. Not only does Lindsey drink, but she sits. "What'd you think? Compared to Chris, I mean."

Fuck. Rose doesn't know that Lindsey's never actually had a session with Chris before. She panics. She doesn't know how to respond. She looks up on the wall and sees a photo of a man who must be Chris, because there's a photo of Rose next to him, and she says the first thing that comes to mind. "I think you're a lot cuter than him." 

Lindsey Horan would like to crawl in a hole and die now, please. Her face is so fucking bright red now. She could basically be one of those cheesy heart-shaped boxes of Valentine's candy. 

Rose blushes, too, which actually brings some color to her face. "Um, ok. Yeah?" Because the thing is, Chris is actually really cute, in his photo at least, so it's definitely a compliment.

"I'm sorry- I shouldn't- that was inappropriate. I don't know why I said that. I don't even know if you're single. I don't fucking know what I'm doing or why I'm talking right now, actually," Lindsey stammers.

And Rose laughs. "Thought you saw I wasn't wearing a ring and decided to shoot your shot."

"Well, I mean. No. Yeah. No. You wouldn't wear a ring anyway, right? Because you're working with your hands, and all the oils. And I wasn't- I wasn't shooting my shot."

"That's too bad," Rose muses. "But, yeah, I'd absolutely wear a ring if it came from someone I was in love with. I'd never take it off. So..."

"So when you said 'no worries' earlier..."

"I meant no worries," Rose confirms. 

"Oh," is all Lindsey can manage. She really doesn't know what to say. Because she really wasn't intentionally shooting anything. 

"So, listen," Rose says, changing the subject, and Lindsey doesn't know if that makes her feel relieved or sad. "I think you need to come back in. A bunch probably. We can help you with that shoulder. I bet your mobility sucks."

It does.

"But, maybe you can schedule with Chris from now on?" Rose asks, and Lindsey gives her a look that's a little bit hurt. Rose grins at her. "I feel like you're probably single," Rose says with a confident smile. "Since you called me cute. It's Valentine's Day. I'm anti-Valentines Day. But I feel like we should go tear up the town tonight. Like, have a fucking blast. I want to take you on a date. But I can't be your massage therapist then. So, like, you gotta pick."

Rose is blunt, for sure.

"I feel like a date on Valentine's Day is not very anti-Valentine's," Lindsey says, cocking her head to one side. But she can't help but smile. 

"Ha!" Rose exclaims. "You've got a dimple. That's cute. And it is anti-Valentine's, if there are no hearts or flowers or chocolate or pink things. Plus, is there a worst idea than a first date on Valentine's Day. I mean, c'mon. I'm asking you out because you're hot. I know absolutely nothing about you other than you're a basketball coach with a fucked up shoulder. I want to get to know you, but this will be the epitome of what not to do on this day. It'll be, like, great!"

"This has nothing to do with you being lonely on Valentine's Day then?" Lindsey asks skeptically. 

"Pffftt. I don't even know what lonely is."

Lindsey doubts that. And Rose seems like she's kind of nuts. Confident. But nuts. It makes Lindsey want to get to know her better. "I can't say no to someone calling me hot. That kind of flattery will get you far. What anti-Valentine's thing are we going to do?"

"Did you like the music in there?" Rose tosses her head towards the room and Lindsey nods. "I'm going to surprise you," Rose winks.

"That seems very Valentine's-y," Lindsey laughs. 

"Nah. Got your address already." Rose taps her pen on the forms Lindsey filled out. "See you at 7:30?"

"That's it? I don't get to ask any other questions or get any other info out of you?" Rose shakes her head and Lindsey sighs. If Rose's personality wasn't so darn captivating, Lindsey would definitely _not_ be going along with this right now. "You sound like a stalker."

* * *

Rose shows up at 7:29, which Lindsey appreciates. She's wearing skinny jeans, a white sweater, and a brown corduroy jacket. Her long brown hair is down now, and flowing over her shoulders. She looks really good. And she sees Lindsey checking her out. Lindsey can tell by that little smirk that forms on Rose's lips. Lindsey doesn't particularly like people who smirk. But she likes Rose's smirk.

Rose looks her up and down too. "I know I said this is an anti-Valentine's date, but c'mon." Lindsey still hasn't changed out of her sweats.

Lindsey looks at the bag Rose is carrying in her hand. "Chipotle? I don't think I need to dress up for a burrito. You're the one that's overdressed here, Ms. I Hate Valentine's Day."

"As if all we're going to do is eat Chipotle. We've got plans. This is just Phase 1. And it's a bowl. Burritos are messy." Rose sets the bag down on Lindsey's kitchen table and shrugs off her jacket. Lindsey is suddenly aware of Rose's figure, her curves, her breasts that were hiding under an oversized sweatshirt earlier. She's much more attractive than Lindsey had realized. 

Rose directs much of the conversation over dinner towards Lindsey and away from herself, to Lindsey's career, and her injury. Lindsey was playing for the USA Basketball Team when it happened, in a friendly against Russia. Even with the best surgeons, she was never going to be the same. She did rehab for awhile anyway - somewhat - so she could still be functional. But when it became clear that it was a career-ending injury, rehab didn't seem that important anymore. So when her massage therapist called to schedule treatment to break up that scar tissue, Lindsey didn't answer the phone. And never called back. And today, years later, she was called out on it by a total stranger. Lindsey likes coaching. She feels like she's making an impact. But the hurt in her eyes is evident when she talks about missing out on Olympic gold.

Right when Lindsey's about to press Rose for her story, Rose stops her. "Go change. We gotta go."

"But you have to tell me where. So I know what to wear," Lindsey whines.

"Ugh, you're no fun at all," Rose chastises her. "Doug Fir Lounge. Phase 2.”

Lindsey returns a few minutes later wearing cuffed ripped black jeans, a camo sweatshirt, a blue jean jacket, and a beanie, and Rose's face lights up in approval. "Let's walk," she says.

"Who's playing tonight?" Lindsey asks as they cross the street in front of her apartment.

"JP Cooper."

Lindsey lets out a snort. "Yeah, ok. Who's really playing?”

"JP Cooper."

"No way you got tickets last minute. You had a date tonight. She canceled on you!"

"You can absolutely get last minute tickets when you know the singer," Rose says nonchalantly. 

Lindsey grabs her arm, looking at her in utter disbelief. "Seriously? How?"

"I lived in the UK for awhile. We hung out at the same bar all the time," Rose shrugs. "I mean, come on. You can't get this pasty in Portland. English weather is... well it puts Portland to shame." Lindsey's face tells Rose she needs to do some more explaining. "I played soccer over there for two years. For Man City," Rose continues as they begin walking again. 

"Wait," Lindsey says, still astonished. "Do you play for the Thorns?"

"No," Rose says, and there's sadness in her voice. "I'm like you. Career-ending injury. Collided with the keeper on a breakaway. Tore my ACL. Double compound fracture of my shin. That surgery site got infected. They almost had to amputate my leg."

"Jesus Christ."

"So now, I'm finally going to college, because I skipped it to go pro," Rose explains. "I'm majoring in sociology. I want to get into public policy analytics. You know, make a difference. Get some legislation passed that will actually do some good. In the meantime, though, massage therapy pays the bills."

Lindsey thinks it's probably a good thing that she hasn't seen Rose around campus. Even though there's not much of an age difference, it would be awkward.

* * *

When they arrive at Doug Fir Lounge, Lindsey grabs them a spot by a fire pit and Rose heads to the bar to order drinks. She brings back four double tequila sodas. Lindsey looks at her skeptically and Rose just shrugs. "I feel like getting wasted is very anti-Valentine's."

Lindsey's not getting wasted off of two, well, four drinks, but she looks at Rose and thinks that _she_ definitely well. As more people fill into the venue, Rose moves from her seat across the fire pit from Lindsey and squeezes in next to her. Considering the fact that Rose had her hands all over Lindsey's body, basically, earlier, this closeness doesn't feel strange to Lindsey. Which is different for her. They make their way inside, and in the crowded space, Rose ends up standing in front of Lindsey. Eventually, she leans back into Lindsey, and from where she stands, Lindsey can't tell if it's because Rose is drunk or tired or if it's really that she just wants to be close. But Lindsey wraps her arms around Rose and Rose doesn’t seem to mind, so they sway together to "In the Silence." During the break in the set, Lindsey leans down to whisper in Rose's ear. "I love JP Cooper. Thank you for this. Really." She sees the corner of Rose's mouth turn up in a smile, even though she can't see Rose's face. 

When she show ends, they head out into the darkness. "You know I'm going to have to Uber back to your place because I left my car there," Rose says, raising an eyebrow. 

Lindsey knows. She's already ordered an Uber. But she teases Rose anyway. "Yeah. That was on purpose, I'm sure." Rose doesn't argue.

* * *

"Come up with me," Lindsey says as they get out of the Uber. And at the same time Rose offers to walk Lindsey to her door. They laugh nervously, talking over each other like that. Lindsey's was a statement, not a question though. She's becoming more confident in whatever this is that's happening between them, by the minute. Whether it's the alcohol or the holiday or maybe the fact that she hasn't had sex in six months, it’s all really irrelevant. Rose seems sober enough, or at least not drunk, despite her small stature, and if Rose wants this to go somewhere, Lindsey wants it to go somewhere, too. They stop at Lindsey's door, Rose leaning against the frame as Lindsey goes to unlock it. Her eyes look so bright and clear under the porch light as she looks up at Lindsey and Lindsey wants so bad to kiss her right there. 

Rose knows it. She can see Lindsey's eyes on her lips. "You can kiss me, if you want," she says softly. "Or invite me in. I feel like the latter is a little more along the lines of our anti-Valentine's theme though."

Lindsey does both. Leans in, tucking her fingers behind Rose's ear as she pulls her closer. Her lips are soft. They taste like peppermint and tequila. And right as Lindsey pulls away, Rose nips at her bottom lip. That's what did it, that last little bit of want from Rose, that made up Lindsey's mind for her. “Phase 3?” Lindsey questions, and Rose just throws up her am hands, as if she doesn’t know what Lindsey is talking about. 

Inside, Rose sits down on Lindsey's couch comfortably, and Lindsey offers her another drink. Rose shakes her head and Lindsey sits down on the couch next to her instead. "This has honestly been the best Valentine's Day I can remember. Thank you," Lindsey says sincerely.

"Anti-Valentine's Day," Rose corrects.

"Why do you keep calling it that, really?" Lindsey asks

Rose lets out an audible sigh, her shoulders falling. She leans back on the couch, tucking one leg under her. "Have you ever heard a song that just resonates with you, in a way that's almost painful because it's so true?" she asks. Lindsey nods. "That's what 'All This Love' is for me. Lindsey reaches out and touches Rose's knee softly, because it looks like she might cry. Rose holds it together though. "My ex got a job in another city. She broke up with me because she said a long-distance relationship wasn't going to work. So fuck Valentine's Day. I said I wasn't going to go out..."

"But then you saw my half naked body, and you changed your mind?"

"That would be unprofessional of me," Rose counters. "I didn't decide to ask you out until I saw your smile. And that dimple."

Lindsey can't help but blush. She pulls Rose to her so she can kiss her again, to hide that blush. Rose's hand creeps onto her thigh, tickling the exposed skin through Lindsey's ripped jeans. But then she pulls away abruptly. "I'm probably not relationship material, if that's what you're looking for. I don't know what you're looking for," she says softly. "But I don't think I'm over her."

Rose isn’t a bad person, Lindsey can see that. Rose is torn between this basic biological desire and a belief that a one-night stand is wrong. Lindsey can see the battle playing out in her head. Lindsey's having the same battle in her own head. "I don't know what I'm looking for either," she admits. 

They stare at each other, unsure of what the other wants, neither one wanting to make a move.

Finally Rose gives in, allowing her hand to creep up farther into Lindsey's lap. Lindsey shudders as Rose straddles her, kissing her from above now, and she lets Rose press her down into the cushion, lets Rose take control, grasping Lindsey's face with both of her hands. "If you figure it out and you want me to stop, you need to say so," Rose tells her between kisses. Lindsey just pulls Rose right back into the kiss, parting her lips so Rose's tongue can slide between them, can tickle the roof of her mouth, can run along her teeth. Lindsey bunches her fists in Rose's sweater as they kiss, wanting to lift it over her head, but also relishing the fact that for the first time, she feels like the person in control is focused on her pleasure, not their own. She wants to swim in that feeling as long as possible. It's new to her, feeling wanted purely because she's wanted, not as a means to an end. 

Rose gets the hint. She breaks their kiss long enough to lift her sweater over her head, exposing her flushed chest and the pale expanse of her flat stomach. And in between are two perfectly firm breasts, covered in a lacy blue bra that matches her eyes. Rose knew exactly what she was doing when she got dressed tonight. She lets Lindsey look at her, lets Lindsey slowly run her hands over her ribs, along the sides of her breasts, brushing lightly over her bra, while Rose strokes Lindsey's cheek softly. She lets Lindsey pull her close and taste the flesh over her collarbone and her chest while she runs her fingers through Lindsey's hair. And then she tips Lindsey's chin up so she can see into her eyes, to be sure, before she lifts the sweatshirt over Lindsey's head. She's not wearing anything underneath, save for her sports bra. Rose rubs her tongue up the tendon on Lindsey’s neck as she lets her fingers trace Lindsey's nipples through the fabric. “Off. Please,” Lindsey begs. She wants to feel the heat from Rose’s mouth against that sensitive part of her skin so much that she isn’t even self-conscious in the moment. Instead, she gets Rose’s fingers, pinching at her already-hard nipples, twisting lightly.

And then Rose kisses her way down, finally letting Lindsey feel her lips pressing on her nipples and her tongue rolling over them. Lindsey moans into the air. Rose kisses between her breasts, moving down and off Lindsey as her lips trail lower and lower. 

She’s kneeling in front of Lindsey now, looking up at her, checking in one last time. And then she’s unbuttoning Lindsey’s jeans and Lindsey’s tilting her hips to help Rose get them off, because Rose can’t get them off fast enough. Once Lindsey’s jeans are on the floor, Rose lets her fingers work up the insides of Lindsey’s legs, until she hooks her arms under Lindsey’s hamstrings and pulls Lindsey’s hips towards her mouth. Lindsey sinks back farther into the couch. And then Rose’s face is buried in Lindsey’s center, breathing her in, and Lindsey’s unable to stop herself from grinding against Rose. Rose can feel the dampness through her boy shorts, can smell Lindsey’s sex. It makes her mouth water. Rose needs to taste her. She tucks her fingers inside Lindsey’s waistband and slides her underwear down, with Lindsey’s help again. And then, she can finally run her tongue through Lindsey’s slippery wetness. 

”You taste so fucking good,” Rose says into the soft skin of Lindsey’s inner thigh, and it drives Lindsey crazy, covering her body in goosebumps. No one has ever said that to her before. Lindsey pulls Rose’s head into her so her tongue can go deep inside her opening, and she tries to ground herself as Rose alternates between teasing her opening and swirling her tongue inside. But really, Lindsey is anticipating what’s going to come next, the flicking of Rose’s tongue against her clit. Soft at first, infrequent as she explores the rest of Lindsey. But then firmer. Faster. Harder. Until Lindsey is pulling her knees up into her body, pressing her ass down into the couch, and thrusting her pelvis into Rose’s face, begging for more. Begging her not to stop, until she’s coming in Rose’s mouth and her legs are trembling in her own hands. 

Rose drinks all of Lindsey in and then without missing a beat, she’s worked her way back up, pushing Lindsey down into the couch. Kissing her. Making sure Lindsey knows just how amazing she tastes. Lindsey is weak under Rose’s control, willing to let Rose have her way with her. Rose sits back up, straddling Lindsey, and Lindsey’s hands shoot to the button on her jeans. She _needs_ them off. Rose works out of them from the awkward position on the couch, revealing matching blue lacy panties. She grinds against Lindsey’s center with her pelvis, and right as Lindsey can’t control herself anymore, right as she starts working her own hips into Rose, Rose stops and lets her hand squeeze between Lindsey’s legs. 

She feels Lindsey’s clit, swollen and throbbing, and the sensation of Rose’s fingers exploring her nub almost makes Lindsey come again. She works her way down, easily sliding two fingers inside, rhythmically, in and out, and Lindsey’s thrusts match Rose. Lindsey grabs Rose’s ass as Rose curls her fingers up inside Lindsey, having found the rough texture of Lindsey’s g-spot. Lindsey moans, biting down on Rose’s shoulder, and Rose refuses to let up with her ‘come hither’ motions. Over and over. It builds within Lindsey. And right as she’s about to explode, Rose enters Lindsey with a third finger, filling her. Lindsey’s walls clamp around Rose’s fingers and she comes again and again, unable to stop her successively smaller orgasms.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she whispers into Rose’s ear as Rose lies against her, apologizing for the bite mark she’s sure she’s left, apologizing for the sticky wetness between them, apologizing for losing herself. 

But Rose doesn’t need an apology. Lindsey losing herself like that has Rose wet and slippery herself. Turned on. Needing Lindsey. She likes it, Lindsey’s fluids all over her face, in her hair, covering her fingers, on her thigh. Rose works her panties off, signaling to Lindsey that she expects her bra to come off too. One of Lindsey’s arms is trapped agains the couch monetarily, but Lindsey is able to undo the clasps of Rose’s bra with one hand. She tosses it aside, to be found in the morning. 

”Floor,” Rose commands, and when Lindsey looks at her strangely, not understanding, Rose helps her off the couch. Shows her what she wants. Sits Lindsey with her back to the couch and her head flung back, resting on the cushion. Rose sits in her lap for a second, fingers tracing the hollow in Lindsey’s neck, then she climbs above Lindsey’s face, clamping her thighs on either side of Lindsey’s head and bracing herself on the back of the couch. Lindsey’s hands instinctively shoot up to Rose’s soft thighs as Rose lowers herself so Lindsey’s tongue can work up her clit. It doesn’t take long, with Rose in control of the pressure, pushing lower and lower against Lindsey until she almost can’t breathe anymore. Her lungs burn for oxygen as she fucks Rose with her tongue. And Lindsey audibly gasps, refilling her lungs with those life-affirming molecules as Rose comes in her mouth while she curses. Loudly. And then she lets her body slide down Lindsey’s until they’re sitting, Rose’s legs wrapped around Lindsey’s midsection. 

Lindsey drags her nails across Rose’s scalp, massaging, until Rose can finally look at her again. Despite all her confidence, Rose’s eyes are questioning again. “Stay. Please.” Lindsey says quietly, trying hard to not sound like she’s begging. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. You can leave in the morning. Before breakfast or after. You don’t have to see me again. But stay the night.”

Rose nods.

“Bedroom’s the only door down that hall,” Lindsey flicks her head in the right direction. “Be there in a minute. Just going to get you something to drink, and some Advil.” She kisses Rose again, softly, on the lips. And then on the cheek. On the ear. Behind the ear. She feels Rose squirm on top of her.

When Lindsey gets to her bedroom a few minutes later, with two bottles of Gatorade and four Advils, her breath is taken away. Rose is standing there in the middle of Lindsey’s bedroom, wearing one of Lindsey’s flannels, discarded in a heap on the floor earlier when Lindsey was trying to decide what to wear. It’s too big for her. It’s unbuttoned, exposing the curves of her breasts. Rose has nothing else on. And her hair is back up in a messy bun. She’s so unbelievably hot that Lindsey wants to fuck her again, wants to take control this time. 

But Rose yawns, and Lindsey’s decides now probably isn’t the time. It’s really late. They both had a long day. They’re both tired. If Rose is still there when Lindsey wakes up in the morning, Lindsey swears to herself that she’ll have her way with Rose then. She steps to Rose, interlaces their fingers, and kisses her with every bit of passion she has in her body, praying that through that kiss, she can convince Rose to be there when she wakes up. Because she can’t say the words, because Rose warned her that this might not be a thing. They slide into bed together and Lindsey feels Rose’s arm fall over her waste. She’s tiny, compared to Lindsey, but when Rose holds her, Lindsey feels safe. She falls asleep to that safety, that warm body presses up against her, hearts pounding in unison. 


End file.
